The Guardians of Warsong
by Frank Hunter
Summary: An early confrontation between the Horde and the night elves in Warsong, Ashenvale. One-shot. Told from the eyes of one orc warrior. Reveiws are greatly appreciated.


**The Guardians of Warsong  
**By, Frank Hunter

_You have nerve trespassing on this place…_

The voice rang through the young orc's mind, and he twisted and turned to try and find the source. It was no good. There was nothing around him. Nothing but a blinding and overpowering whitish-blue glow. A serene light. Moonlight.

The warrior wasn't sure why he knew it was the moon, but for some reason he was certain. The whole experience was so surreal that it almost made perfect sense. And that voice…the woman's voice…

_You will not get out of the forest alive…_

The voice spoke to him in a language like none he'd ever heard before. It was majestic and natural; it flowed almost like a stream. The words…he didn't understand the words of course but somehow their meaning got through to him. And their meaning…the threatening messages tore at him like the spines of a quillboar.

Around him a scene was beginning to materialize. He could see, as the world faded into existence. The orc realized that he must be leagues from camp, alone in the wilderness, surrounded by the noises of the jungle. Crickets chirped into being and grass rustled. Creatures, large and small, moved about. It was like the trees themselves were alive. Mocking him…

_This is our world…_

His eyesight returning to him, he jolted around again, but still the source of the voice remained elusive. The bright light centered on one point overhead, a perfect circle. A full moon.

The orc began to walk. Reading the stars, he determined which direction was east, and began pressing that way. He could only guess that camp was in that direction, but anything was preferable to staying in place and waiting to be overtaken by…something. With the entire forest behaving like an enemy, the only thing he could do was try to remove himself from the situation.

Pushing grass and branches from his path, the young orc prayed for a clearing or a trail. Something that would relieve him of this claustrophobia of foliage. This living maze. But it never came. If anything the plants became even thicker the farther he went. The noises around him grew louder. The chirping of crickets in his ears, the rustling of bushes and grass, and the wind in the branches overhead.

His nerves beginning to get the best of him, he quickened his pace. Trotting now he could feel the trees actually getting closer together. Branches hindered his path and he reached for his waist, relieved when he found his axe still in place. This tool that had saved his life countless times in battle. Surely it would get him out of this as well.

He took a swing at the next branch that got in his way, severing it from the tree that held it. In that instant everything changed.

A shriek ripped out of the forest, ear-piercing and violent. Its pitch was higher than anything the orc had heard before. He dropped his axe and fell to the ground, clutching his head in his hands. The sound drowned out all else, feeling like a crack of lightning straight through his skull.

Stopping as abruptly as it began, the shriek continued to ring in his ears as all the other sounds of the forest fell immediately silent. The orc attempted to catch his breath before moving again. As he lay there, the voice returned.

_Your kind does not understand…_

_Why me, _the orc thought. Surely there were those who had done more wrong than him. He was young, and a new member of the Horde's armies. He hadn't even had the chance to wrong this creature that tormented him. He hadn't done anything!

But he suddenly remembered something the older grunts had said about Warsong. A warning. Something dangerous and treacherous about the nights in that forest…

And then he realized that this was all a dream. He couldn't be miles from camp. He had gone to sleep in a tent that very night, surrounded by other devoted members of the Horde. It was just some arcane trick to put him out of his mind and shatter his resolve. He was safe.

Knowing this…really _knowing_ it, he burned with a new fury. Picking up his axe, he stood and stared into the trees. The voice returned. He thought that it must be one of those odd purple elves with the curved ears. They were elusive, almost invisible, but everyone knew they were out there. You could see them watching from the trees at sunset and sunrise. Always quiet, always judgmental, and always just out of range…

_The Kaldorei will prevail…_

"Show yourself!" he bellowed into the wilderness of his own mind. What did he have to fear now, after all? He couldn't be hurt here. The grass behind him rustled violently, and he turned around, axe at the ready.

A black panther jumped out, quick as lightning. It leapt from the forest floor and lunged at his face. The young orc took in the sight of those glowing eyes, and the sharp fangs and, before he had the chance to react, he awakened in his tent to a general commotion.

He shot up in his cot, returning once more to reality. Next to him the shape of his friend, Ghor'thul, was moving about, up and out of his own cot already. He was trying to quickly slip into his armor.

Others in Warsong had complained recently about strange nightmares. About a fear of the forest. He had not paid them much thought at the time, as that sort of thing was not uncommon among soldiers in war situations. But, now he knew what they meant. That was no ordinary nightmare. There was something behind it. Something hostile.

Ghor'thul paused for a moment when he saw his friend sitting upright. "Ah Maako, you are awake. Hurry, arm yourself."

Maako still had the image of the panther embedded in his mind. Disoriented and trying desperately to make sense of the world around him, he looked at his own equipment. "What is happening?"

"Warsong Lumber Camp is under attack!"

That brought him to his senses quickly. "Attack!?"

"Yes. I think it's those strange purple elves."

"The elves…" He got up and put his own gear on without another word. Picking his axe up from where it lay next to his cot, the two warriors stepped out of the tent and into the night.

Morning was coming quickly, as the full moon was setting on the horizon. Maako looked out over Warsong Lumber Camp, and it looked much as he had left it earlier that night. The harvesting equipment was off on the borders of the forest, unmanned at night. Goblins kept strict working hours.

The trees nearby were all cut down. The camp was a huge expanding processing center, and it served its purpose well for the Horde settlements nearby in the Barrens and Durotar. Though everyone knew the warchief would like to see more lumber shipping out to meet the Horde's growing needs, the goblins made it very difficult and costly to do that. And unfortunately, they were the ones with the harvesters.

Looking out at the harvesters now, Maako understood what was really going on. There were several orc bodies lying on the ground which, as Maako and Ghor'thul could see as they approached, were pierced by arrows in the armor's weak points. The residents of Warsong were all up in arms at the forest borders, firing arrows and arcane magic into the trees. As far as Maako could tell, they were hitting nothing. But, looking close enough, he could see the blurred purple forms of the elves darting through the branches, occasionally stopping to take a shot at one of the Warsong residents. Unfortunately, these shots tended to hit more often.

A few minutes more of this game, and the elves began to fade back into the distance. Ghor'thul unsheathed his sword and made for the trees. "Come. We can catch them as the sun rises!" The first rays of light were poking over the treetops and the orcs knew that the elves never dared to venture out during the day.

But Maako just took hold of his arm, pulling him back. "Don't."

"I will not stand back and let them escape after this mockery!"

"No," Maako held his arm fast. "Don't follow them. It's a trap."

Ghor'thul looked fairly unconvinced as he watched a shaman take up the chase with two tauren at his heels. They disappeared into the dense foliage.

"The forest is their domain," Maako told his friend.

Not two minutes passed before screams could be heard ringing through the gulch. At that point Ghor'thul knew that his friend was right. The three pursuers had been laid to waste in no time at all. A moment of silence followed the screams, before a woman's voice shouted back out of the trees. Maako recognized it.

The voice yelled in that strange, beautiful language that Maako had heard it use in his dream. This time it didn't translate itself in his mind, but he didn't forget the intent and the meaning of the voice from before. _The Kaldorei will prevail._

_The Kaldorei…_

The Warsong residents moved back from the forest border. Maako and Ghor'thul joined the crowd of frustrated people, as the captain of the guard rode his wolf up next to them. He wore a scowl on his face.

"Clean this mess up," he barked to the men under his command, indicating the dozen or so corpses that littered the ground. Not a one of them was elvish…

"And begin construction on three defense towers. They will not catch us so vulnerable again"

"Lok tar, commander," came the response, and the guards got to work. They would be joined by goblins eventually as the latter decided it was time to wake up. Unbelievable creatures, goblins.

Maako and Ghor'thul returned to their tent to prepare for the day's activities. Maako couldn't help but wonder what this skirmish would mean for their future relations with those elves…the Kaldorei, they had called themselves. They might prove to be formidable enemies…

He tried not to dwell too much. The elves knew not what they were getting into. The Horde had dealt with enemies far beyond anything these feeble little forest creatures could throw at them. Even the pink-skinned humans seemed much more threatening at the moment. The Kaldorei would probably prove to be a nuisance and nothing more.

Still. This could be the start of a long, long war over Warsong. Defense towers might not be a bad idea. A bigger army would be an even better one. If the tone of his dream was accurate, then Maako knew the elves would not stop. He would do some scouting later with Ghor'thul. See if maybe he could learn something about where they came from in the relative safety of daylight. Maybe then they could get payback for this humiliation.

Strength, and honor. For the Horde.


End file.
